like a river
by sarolonde
Summary: Lance is the Prince of Altea, second in line for the universes most important throne, and Shiro is a Galran guard, a warrior and former slave. Shiro is nothing. Lance is everything. (shance: sexual content, mutual pining)


"Do you think he's going to stand out there all night?" Keith questions. "It's been vargas."

In most cases Shiro would assume the words are a complaint, but the expression creasing Keith's brow is mere curiosity. Perhaps even with a rare hint of concern.

Shiro's gaze shifts to the tall, lithe figure standing alone out on the balcony. The Altean Prince and their ward, Lance. The ethereal blue moon of the Galra planet silhouetting his frame in a mesmerising glow becoming of someone of such breathtaking beauty.

Hypnotised, Shiro's tracing the elegant line of his neck and broad shoulders when Lance leans forward on the railing, his hips tilting and his back arching. Shiro feels like he's been set alight, breath hitching as he watches the naturally graceful and sensual movement of Lance's body. Swallowing hard, Shiro swiftly averts his yellow-eyed gaze.

"It isn't our place to question," Shiro responds with an unconvincing platitude.

"It is, however, our place to know if he's okay," Keith says, folding his arms and regarding Lance, clearly not affected by the allure of his form. "He's seemed… sad, lately."

Shiro has noticed it too. In public and even around his family and friends, Lance wears a smiling mask, pinched at the edges. It's a convincing mask, Shiro wouldn't have even noticed if not for Lance's slight slips on the odd occasion he forgets his personal guard's presence. Shiro has been deeply concerned but it isn't his place to question, it isn't his place to know Lance's private affairs.

"It is our place to know that he's okay _physically_ ," Shiro clarifies. "His emotional state is none of our concern."

Keith glances at Shiro, eyes narrowing knowingly. "You don't believe that. I know you care for him."

Jaw clenching, Shiro straightens his stance and squares his shoulders, as if it will make the insubordination and guilt of his affections for Lance lessen. "We have a duty, Keith. We must respect it."

In his periphery he can see the flare of frustration over Keith's expression but his objection is deterred by the sound of approaching footsteps. Fortunately Keith maintains his proficient awareness of the environment and hastily straightens before Lance arrives.

Lance saunters into the room with a flutter of fine Altean silks of teal and pink, trimmed with elegant gold embellishments and complimenting the warm tone of his smooth brown skin. The regal gold crown of his station rests among the soft curls of his dark hair, a reminder of everything Lance is and all his significance.

"What's wrong, Keith?" Lance questions, an amused glimmer in his otherworldly eyes and his lips curling into a smirk. "Too difficult to stand in the one position too long? Am I boring my poor little Galra guard?"

"No, Your Highness," Keith says, unable to keep the bristle from his voice. "I was simply… Wondering if you're okay this evening?"

Lance's smile doesn't falter, but Shiro discerns the slight strain and the nervous curl of long fingers. "Of course! I was merely enjoying this lovely Galvok moon. It's about the only thing that reminds me of home on this desolate rock you call a planet." Lance sighs wistfully and Shiro can almost hear Keith's teeth grinding at the insult. Needless to say, Lance's favourite pastime is annoying Keith.

"Are you not tired, Your Highness?" Shiro asks in order to defuse tension. "You've had a long quintent, I'm surprised you haven't already retired to your quarters."

For the first time Lance's gaze moves to Shiro and he can feel it like a physical force. Powerful blue eyes – made brighter by the Altean marks across his high cheekbones – caress Shiro's skin and send a thrilling shiver down his spine.

"I am rather tired. Will you escort me to my quarters?"

The query seems innocent enough but it's unnecessary, it's their duty to escort Lance wherever he wishes to go. His hidden insinuation makes itself known in the spark of desire lighting Lance's eyes and Shiro conceals his shameful blushing with a bow.

"Of course, Your Highness."

Shiro turns abruptly on his heel, not allowing himself the opportunity to even glimpse Lance's attractive face, and leads the way down the corridor, with Keith protecting the rear and Lance between them in their usual formation.

It's late, many vargas past sundown, and with the quintents festivities the Galvok palace is quiet; corridors void of inhabitants except for fellow guards on duty. Shiro weaves his way through the familiar corridors of his two year assignment, boots rhythmically thumping along the dark metal floors. He recalls Lance complaining about the darkness of the Galran palace and lamenting for the brightness of his home. Shiro cannot help but agree, these dark corridors, lacking any warmth or charm, remind him of the gladiator prisons.

Coming to a halt outside a set of large doors, Shiro waits for Lance to input his passcode before entering; another archaic feature Lance bemoans, 'At home the doors allow entrance to individual biological readings'. As the door slides open, however, Lance pauses at the threshold.

"Thank you, Shiro," Lance says, glancing back at him. Helplessly enticed by the compelling melody of his name shaped by Lance's lips, Shiro meets his gaze and immediately feels drawn to him. "Keith. I wish you a quiet, uneventful night."

The door slides closed behind him, separating them, and Shiro feels as if all the light has drained from the world.

Keith scoffs a wry laugh, positioning himself the opposite side of the door from Shiro and straightening into his professional guard stance. "I know you like to think me oblivious, but it's my job to see."

"I don't think you oblivious, Keith," Shiro dismisses, ignoring the implication of his words and positioning himself for a long night of guard duty ahead.

In his periphery he can see Keith shaking his head incredulously and can practically hear the gears turning in his mind, searching for words. Shiro prays he doesn't find the words, hopes that Keith will bite his tongue and let the issue lie. There is no issue, nothing to discuss. Lance is the Prince of Altea, second in line for the universes most important throne, and Shiro is a Galran guard, a warrior and former slave. Shiro is nothing. Lance is everything.

The comfortable silence they usually work in is heavy with tension. Shiro can feel Keith's frustration boiling over, can feel his brittle temper slowly crumbling, and sighs, bracing himself for the argument. Before Keith can begin whatever speech he's spent the last few minutes contemplating a distant, desperate moan reaches their sharp Galran ears.

The familiar sound sparks like electricity spiralling down Shiro's spine and coiling low and tight in his abdomen. Keith's eyes widen before glowing and burning a dangerous yellow as he growls, barring sharp teeth with awkwardness and aggravation. They listen in a silent moment of astonishment and embarrassment as Lance moans Shiro's name, his voice audibly straining and pleading through the metal walls. Shiro keeps his gaze on the floor as his breath shortens and excitement burns uncontrollably through his body.

"That's it!" Keith snarls, somehow managing to keep his voice down as his patience fails. "I'm _not_ spending another night out here listening to him moan your damn name!"

"Keith, you can't leave," Shiro hisses angrily. "You have a duty."

Keith scoffs. "In a palace full of guards, in a time of peace and with you by his side I'm sure his Princely-ness will be perfectly safe."

"By his side? That is an absolutely inappropriate violation of his privacy, I cannot go in there."

"You can and you will."

"What? Why?"

"Because you love him!" Keith growls loudly and Shiro takes a shocked step backwards, eyes wide and heart aching at the wretched truth of his infatuation. Keith's shoulders slump at the distressed expression on his friend's face and he exhales a calming breath. "I see the way you look at him and the affect he has on you, the way you move around him and speak to him. You hide it well, Shiro, but not well enough to keep it from me."

Shiro wilts, his head bowing. "I can't…" he denies. "I don't. I can't."

"Just because you say it doesn't make it so."

"I'm his _guard_ , it's my _responsibility_ to protect him and… nothing more. I am nothing, a shield and weapon for him to wield. A body to sacrifice for his life."

Keith frowns, shaking his head. "That clearly isn't true, listen to him! Lance wants you," he comments, grimacing as his gaze flickers to the door behind which the moaning is intensifying. "You're not the only one who's hiding their feelings, Shiro. If I have to watch him stare at your arse as we follow you down these corridors one more time I'm going to be sick."

Heat rises in Shiro's cheeks, which seems like an impossibility with all his blood rushing to his cock as he listens to Lance calling his name. Fortunately if Keith notices the swell of his arousal under the thin material covering his crotch, he's gracious enough to ignore it.

"Oh, geez," Keith groans a complaint as Lance moans particularly loudly. "I'm going to visit the Holts for a couple of vargas, they'll likely still be awake. When I return you better be in there, Shiro."

Keith hurries away and Shiro is left gaping after him, uncertain and anxious.

Without anything else to occupy his attention, Shiro's senses are swiftly awash with the exquisite sounds of Lance's voice. Drawn to it like a siren song, Shiro slumps against the door and presses his forehead against the metal, hot breath puffing and steaming against the dark surface. Lance is close, he can hear it in the needy whines, the fevered incoherent babble and breathy moans. Shiro closes his eyes and imagines Lance's stunning features contorting with pleasure as it builds and burns within, as it shudders through his body uncontrollably, muscles taut and straining as his orgasm takes over.

Lance falls quiet and Shiro uses the reprieve to breathe, deep and relaxing, regaining control of himself once more. It takes a long while of focusing on nothing but his breathing and the cool metal against his heated skin, but Shiro gathers his wits and quells his arousal.

He can't do this. He can't do what Keith suggested, no matter how substantial the evidence that Lance might reciprocate his desires, his feelings. What is he supposed to do? Go in there and confess and hope that his affections for the Prince of bloody Altea are returned? How could a Prince ever love a slave, a guard? Even _if_ Lance were to accept his affections, Shiro would never be allowed to court him. The Altean people would detest and oppose the union.

 _Galra. Soldier. Slave. Nothing._

So when his hand moves to the intercom and he presses the call button, Shiro blames the dark, primal parts of himself that _want_ , a craving so profound it becomes _need_.

Shiro straightens and steels himself, expecting Lance's tired, inquiring voice to sound through the intercom, instead the doors slide open to allow Shiro entrance. Gaze examining the unoccupied living area of Lance's quarters, he enters and tentatively makes his way to the connected bedroom. The doors are open wide and inviting, but Shiro pauses respectfully.

"Your Highness?"

"Come in, Shiro," Lances summons casually.

Inhaling deeply, Shiro obediently enters the lavish bedroom, his eyes sweeping the room with practiced alertness. The uncovered wall of windows allow the glow of the moon to light the room in a soft blue light, dark Galra metal gleaming with uncharacteristic colour. The bed is mussed and a few items of clothing lay strewn on the floor but otherwise there's no further evidence of Lance's activities. Aside from Lance himself.

The Prince stands in the middle of the room, crown removed from the charmingly dishevelled curls of his dark hair. His fine dress robes from the quintent of festivities barely hang from his shoulders and hips, undone and falling apart over his chest and abdomen and thighs to reveal mouth-watering spans of lean muscle and smooth skin. Shiro feels every muscle in his body tense as he tears his gaze from Lance's body only to be mesmerised by the radiance of his blue eyes.

"You wanted to see me, Shiro?" Lance prompts, lips curling haughtily.

"I…" Shiro breathes, voice breaking. He clears his throat. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. I've recently noticed your discontent when you think no one is watching and I know it's not my place but… I've been worried for you."

Lance's smile falls and a troubled crease forms between his eyebrows, his gaze dropping to the floor. For an apprehensive silent moment Shiro is worried he's said the wrong thing and is about to apologise profusely when Lance slowly approaches. Lance stops before him, fingers curling into his palms in a familiar nervous gesture, and regards Shiro, vulnerable and hopeful.

"You were worried about me?"

"Of course. Your well-being is of utmost importance, Your Highness."

Lance's brow furrows in annoyance, clearly not receiving the answer he wanted.

His pensive gaze wanders down Shiro's body, coming to rest on his mechanical arm. Lance's long fingers wrap around his wrist and Shiro relaxes the limb, allowing him to inspect it. His fingertips trace the interlocking plates of metal from the join at his bicep down to the intricate detailing of the fingers, holding it carefully between his hands as if it's something to be treasured.

"I heard the stories. The slave who became the great champion of the gladiator ring. This was your prize from the druids."

Shiro winces at the memory. His arm is no prize. It's a repulsive reminder of the brutality he suffered, a reminder of his worth as a weapon, a tool. He curls the metal fingers closed and goes to draw his arm away but Lance holds him fast.

"You defeated them all, one by one, until no worthy challenger remained. You rebelled with your fellow slaves, turned on your captors and almost singlehandedly brought down the biggest shame of the Galran Empire," Lance says, his voice soft with reverence, eyes flickering up to Shiro's. "You took their weapon and destroyed them with it, you should bear it with pride as a symbol of your freedom."

He's never considered it in such a positive way, has simply attempted to ignore its ugly presence, but he never would have been able to fight free without it. He wouldn't be here, protecting the most precious and extraordinary person in the universe. He wouldn't have met the only person who makes his life feel brighter and worth living.

Shiro's mechanical arm relaxes in Lance's grasp and Lance raises it to his face, manipulating the hand and trailing metal fingers over his temple, down the bright blue marking on his cheekbone, across his cheek and jaw and smoothing over his lips. Heart already pounding from Lance's casual touch and tenderness, Shiro inhales sharply and his eyes widen as Lance leisurely urges the metal fingers into his mouth. Lance holds Shiro's gaze intently, jaw dropping open as two fingers slide over his tongue and press so deeply into his mouth that his lips encircle Shiro's knuckle.

Heat coils impossibly fast, Shiro's cock hardening at the sight of this unbelievably gorgeous creature swallowing his fingers.

"Lance…" Shiro says weakly.

His lips curls into a smile around Shiro's fingers and his cheeks hollow, sucking as he draws them slowly from his mouth. Heedless of the spit-slick fingers, Lance presses Shiro's palm to his chest, fingers curling over his collarbones, and smiles blissfully.

"I've waited so long for you to look at me," Lance confesses, reaching up to trail his fingers tenderly along Shiro's jaw. "To see me as more than an object to be guarded."

Shiro leans into Lance's touch helplessly. "You were _never_ an object, Lance," he growls protectively, insubordinately, but Lance's smile merely softens affectionately and Shiro's heart stutters. "But we can't… This can't…" he mumbles, protesting feebly.

"Shiro, tell me you don't feel it," Lance says, pulling Shiro's hand lower and settling it over his heart. "Being around you is like standing at the edge of a storm, on the precipice of a hurricane. The sheer power of your presence pulls me in no matter how much I resist. And I _can't_ anymore. I want to experience the storm, allow it to sweep me up and take me where I _know_ I belong. And I know you feel the same."

Lance is like a river, cool and soothing, glistening in the sunlight and bubbling brightly. His presence washes over Shiro, and despite the rivers tranquil appearance the current is powerful, pulling at him, insistent and intent. All Shiro has wanted since meeting Lance is to float down that river, allow the current to carry him away and lose himself in the peaceful promise of Lance's body.

"It doesn't matter how I _feel_ ," Shiro argues but he doesn't move away, can't bear to. "You're the Prince of Altea and I'm… I'm…"

"Strong, courageous, respectful," Lance suggests, his voice low as he closes the distance between them, pressing their chests together. "Handsome, breathtaking, irresistible."

"Lance… We can't."

Lance turns and leans back against Shiro's chest. Seizing Shiro's hand, Lance draws it around his waist and presses Shiro's palm against his stomach, muscles contracting under the warmth of Shiro's hand. Lance tilts his head, nuzzling into Shiro's cheek and reaching back to graze his fingertips through the black lengths of Shiro's hair.

"Tell me you don't want this," Lance murmurs against his skin, the movement providing a teasing feather-light touch of lips. He moves Shiro's hand down his abdomen and into the material of his robe. "Tell me you don't want me, Shiro."

Shiro's mechanical hand finds Lance's hip instinctively as Lance arches his back and rubs against him. Shiro gazes down at the graceful curves of Lance's body that he's been aching for and stops resisting, allowing the river to sweep him away.

"I… I must apologise, Your Highness," he says, feeling Lance tense apprehensively in his arms but Shiro's grip on his hip tightens. "I cannot tell you that because it would be a lie."

Lance relaxes against him, turning his head slowly to meet Shiro's gaze and smiling with such unreserved happiness it steals Shiro's breath away. Lance presses their mouths together eagerly, heedless of the giddy smile curling his lips and the awkward angle. Shiro fixes the latter by spinning Lance easily in his arms and the former melts away in an approving hum as Shiro takes his mouth wholly, fervently.

Their lips slide together hungrily, sucking and licking and nipping in a frantic attempt to sate months of yearning. Shiro's hands slide underneath the folds of pink fabric at Lance's hips, palming at the smooth swell of his arse and squeezing. With his tongue licking into Lance's mouth, Lance's needy groan reverberates in Shiro's mouth and goes straight to his cock, causing it to throb painfully in the confines of his armour.

Lance draws back, heavy lidded eyes inspecting Shiro's body calculatingly. "How do we get you out of this armour as quickly as possible?"

Shiro steals a kiss from Lance's glossy, swollen lips before stepping back to set to work on his purple and grey Galra guard armour. As Shiro is loosening the pressure on his breastplate to pull it over his head, Lance drops to his knees before him, examining the armour over Shiro's thigh.

"What are you doing?" Shiro questions, voice light with amusement.

"Helping," Lance responds, frowning with his tongue poking out adorably in concentration. His face lights up enthusiastically as he seems to find the clasp. "Ah-ha!"

Shiro smiles down at him fondly and finally removes his breastplate before moving onto his shoulder guards. At this point these quirky little things Lance does don't surprise Shiro. He learned early in his assignment to the Altean Prince, not to underestimate his intelligence and wit, his enthusiasm and determination. He learned there was little Lance couldn't do, little Lance wasn't willing to do to help.

"You don't have to do that."

Removing the second thigh guard and placing it on the floor, Lance massages the freed muscles of Shiro's thighs. He rises up on his knees and glances up at Shiro through his lashes, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I know. But it's well worth it for the view."

Lance smirks before leaning forward and licking a languid line along the length of Shiro's cock. Shiro inhales sharply, legs trembling as Lance continues to mouth his cock, the thin material of his uniform darkening with Lance's saliva and his own eager fluids. Shiro moans at the sight and the heat of Lance's mouth, but it's not enough, he wants more, _needs_ more.

"Lance," Shiro all but begs.

Smiling against him, Lance ceases his teasing and rises to his feet. "Don't worry, I have better ideas for what to do with you," he says, trailing a finger around the wet outline of his cock, eyes admiring Shiro's easily discernible muscles under the skin tight under-suit of his armour. "How do we remove this?"

Shiro hesitates, biting his lip and avoiding Lance's gaze, cold uncertainty washes over him even with the fire of desire raging through him. Lance notices, frowning with concern.

"What's wrong, Shiro?"

"I have… I have scars," he admits quietly, surprised by the vulnerability and fear in his own voice.

Lance's expressions softens and he tenderly holds Shiro's face between his hands, pressing a comforting kiss to his lips. "Do you trust me?"

Gazing into those sincere blue eyes, knowing Lance's loyalty and kindness, Shiro can only nod an affirmation.

"It comes undone at the back of my neck."

Lance kisses him once more before sidling around him, the reassuring pressure of his hands never leaving Shiro's body. Shiro holds his breath as Lance's hands pause at the clasp. He's never cared about his scars, he's never needed to, no one has seen them and he ignores them as he ignores the metal arm.

Shiro can practically feel Lance controlling his reaction as the material parts between his hands, revealing raised pale scar tissue slashed across his purple skin. He squeezes his eyes closed in the tentative silence, shivering as Lance's fingers skim over his skin and relaxing as Lance peppers gentle kisses against his skin. With deft hands, Lance pushes the tight fabric over Shiro's shoulders and down his arms.

"You're beautiful, Shiro," Lance murmurs, kissing the back of his neck.

Insecurity dissolving under Lance's praise and affection and patience wearing thin with every painful throb of his erection, Shiro turns, wraps his arms around Lance's waist and carries him towards the bed. Lance smiles enthusiastically, draping his arms over Shiro's shoulders and kissing him hotly. Shiro halts at the edge of the bed, hands searching the folds of fabric for a way to free Lance from his robes.

Lance laughs lightly. "I'll handle this. You finish removing that damn armour," he suggests, tugging at the robes in a way Shiro would never have considered.

Shiro undoes his heavy boots and pulls them off his feet before pulling the under-suit down his hips and off. He feels a tingle of eyes on him and straightens slowly to find Lance staring at him, eyes roaming freely over his exposed body of solid muscle and purple skin. Shiro barely notices though, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Lance.

Acclimatising effortlessly to any environment, Alteans dress in fashionable layers of light clothing, their royalty wearing elaborate regal robes and dresses. Shiro's fantasised about Lance's body, about the long, slender lines hidden under all of that fine fabric but he could never have imagined anything as magnificent as the sight before him.

Lance's beautiful bronze skin is unblemished and smooth, radiant in the soft light of the moon. With lusciously long legs, it's no wonder Lance's so tall for an Altean. The lean muscles of his calves and thighs stretching gracefully up to his narrow hips and waist, and the contours of his abdominal and pectoral muscles leaving Shiro's mouth watering with the desire to taste.

Stepping in close, Lance wraps his arms around Shiro's neck and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Their closeness presses their cocks together and Shiro bites back a groan, controlling the instinctive urge to chase the friction.

"How do you want to…?" Shiro asks.

Lance bites his lip in quiet contemplation, his eyes dazzling when he smiles. "Well, I know how you want to."

Other species mock Galran sexual fraternisation as animalistic and dominating, preferring to have one partner behind the other, pressing them down and controlling the intercourse. What they don't understand is the comfort and security it provides; a display of trust and solace, intimacy and devotion.

"We don't have to," Shiro allows. As much as his instincts crave it, so long as he's with Lance he doesn't care.

"I want to."

The words are whispered, an intimate promise. Lance crawls onto the bed and kneels in the centre. He glances back over his shoulder invitingly and, _gods_ , Shiro has no hope of resisting, even if he wanted to.

Shiro kneels behind him, wrapping an arm around Lance's waist and sighing with relief at the feeling of holding him close, at the feeling of skin on skin. He kisses Lance's elegant neck greedily, sucking, licking and dragging his fangs gently over sensitive skin, Lance quivering against him. Shiro slides his hand around Lance's waist, appreciating the firm swell of his arse before dipping two fingers between his cheeks.

"Do you—?" Shiro falters in surprise, pressing fingers into Lance's slick entrance with ease. "You're already…?"

Lance leans back against him, smirking playfully and humming an affirmation as Shiro slides his fingers out. Lance grips the back of Shiro's thighs and grinds his arse back. They both moan at the contact, Shiro's cock sliding between his cheeks and the ridges rubbing at his entrance.

"I'm ready for you, Shiro," Lance murmurs against Shiro's lips breathlessly. "I stretched myself, fucked myself with my fingers thinking about you. Preparing for you."

Shiro remembers Lance moaning, begging and calling his name, all alone in this enormous room. Frustration prickles under his skin, hot and raw. A deep, rumbling growl tears from between Shiro's teeth and he pushes them forward, pressing Lance down into the sheets underneath him.

" _Yes_ ," Lance moans, arching his back and presenting himself for Shiro. "Shiro, please. I need you. Please."

Shiro grips himself, cock hot and heavy in his hand, and presses the purple head, glistening with wetness, against Lance's entrance. Lance keens, tilting his hips eagerly, and Shiro grips them as he pushes into the deliciously tight and slick ring of muscle. Lance grips the sheets, knuckles white as he forces his body to relax against the initial pressure and Shiro presses soothing kisses against his shoulder blades.

"Lance?" Shiro asks with concern between panting breathes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm—yeah—I'm okay," he mumbles against the sheets, turning his head so Shiro can see the side of his face and the delighted smile curving his mouth. "You feel _so good_ , Shiro. So incredibly good. Keep going. I'm okay, I promise."

The soft whimpering noises Lance makes as Shiro eases into him, make Shiro glad for his own self-control. Initially believing the noises to be pained, watching Lance's face Shiro now hears the pleasure, watching with fascination as Lance revels in the hot stretch. This at least gives him something to focus on other than the overwhelming bliss of burying himself in Lance's heat, tight muscles pulling him in.

Impatiently, Lance pushes back to thrust the final inch inside. Shiro groans at the all-encompassing pressure, panting heavily, hot breath puffing out against brown skin.

Lance hums contently. "Fuck, Shiro. You're so big, I've never felt so _full_."

Loosening his grip from the sheet, Lance reaches back to thread his fingers through Shiro's hair where he's mouthing at Lance's shoulder. Shiro feels like he's burning, every nerve on fire and _begging_ him to move, _begging_ for friction. But he never wants to hurt Lance, can't even bear the thought of it.

"Are you okay?"

Lance glances over his shoulder and smiles wickedly.

Instead of answering, Lance angles his hips so that Shiro's cock slides out slightly and rocks back. Fire sears through Shiro's stomach and thighs, coiling tightly in his abdomen.

"You better start fucking me, Shiro, or I'm going to fuck myself."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

Shiro grips Lance's hips, angling his body and grinding into him with slow, measured movements. Lance moans quietly as Shiro stretches and fills him over and over. Straightening, Shiro gazes down at where they're joined and watches, mesmerised, as his cock disappears inside Lance's pert arse.

Muscles tremble around his cock as Lance shudders and lets out a powerful moan.

" _Ahh_ , Shiro—Shiro, _there!_ " Lance gasps, gyrating his hips greedily. "More. More. _Gods_ , please, more. Shiro, please."

Sparks shoot up Shiro's spine listening to Lance beg, but he focuses on the angle. He leans over Lance with a supporting hand on the mattress and thrusts in hard and deep. Lance cries out, voice trilling with exhilaration and pleasure. Shiro feels his whole body flying at the sound of it, growling and groaning, thrusting in and hitting that perfect place deep inside Lance again and again.

Lance moans and screams, arse in the air, getting fucked hard into the mattress and expressing his enjoyment shamelessly. So free, so bright and full of life. Shiro savours the sights and sounds, enchanted by Lance's beauty.

"Lance." Shiro leans further over him to entwine their fingers over Lance's head and moans against Lance's shoulder, feeling the flames lick through his body and engulf him so completely. "Lance… Lance…"

"Shiro, _fuck_ … More, m-more," Lance encourages, muscles tensing and tightening. "D-Don't stop. So… fucking… _good!_ "

Pushing back against him, they move in perfect unison, chasing that heavenly pressure building, climbing, soaring.

Shiro's loses himself in Lance. Submerged in the spicy, sweaty, intoxicating scent of him. Mind flooded with his voice and the desperate way he calls Shiro, like he can't get enough, will never get enough. Senses drowning in the feeling of Lance's body, underneath him, engulfing him, supple but strong.

Reaching around the straining muscles of Lance's thigh, Shiro strokes Lance in time with his thrusts. He hears the wrecked hitching of Lance's voice, notices the sweat dampening the curls at Lance's nape and observes his muscles twitching and flexing under heated brown skin. Lance is on the precipice, on the verge of coming undone.

Shiro feels the tremble of muscles around his cock before Lance writhes and shudders underneath him, crying out incoherently. He experiences the beautiful sight of Lance's enjoyment for barely a moment before succumbing to his own, grip tightening on Lance's hand and biting down on his shoulder to stifle his moans. A shockwave of delicious electricity jolts through his body, clenching muscles and overpowering his mind with the purest of pleasure.

Shiro collapses haphazardly but Lance doesn't seems to mind his weight, merely panting with exertion underneath him. Shiro can feel the hammer of Lance's heart against his chest and allows the steadying rhythm of it to calm him, gradually lulling him back to the world.

When he feels his muscles have regained enough strength, Shiro pushes himself up, pulling out of Lance in the process, and blindly kisses his way down Lance's spine. Shiro indulgently laves at Lance's perky arse before gently pulling his cheeks apart and licking at the sensitive skin of his entrance. Lance squirms and laughs breathlessly as Shiro gingerly continues to lick at him, sucking out his sticky mess.

"I heard this is a thing," Lance mumbles, relaxing into it. "A Galra thing."

"A bad thing?"

Lance hums. "No. It's a little odd but kind of nice. Gentle. Considerate. Did you, um… Did you mean to mark me? Bite me?"

Shiro freezes, an icy wave of panic washing over him. He pulls away from Lance's arse with a slick pop and jolts upright to see the stark red marks of his teeth and fangs on Lance's shoulder. His eyes widen in horror as guilt surges through him. These are no mere bite marks, the shallow wound on Lance's shoulder is a Galran mating mark and is only shared by intimately committed mates.

"I—I'm so sorry," Shiro mutters. "I didn't… I shouldn't have."

Lance rolls onto his side, looking up at Shiro with an uncertain frown. "You didn't mean to?"

Recognising Lance's hopeful expression, Shiro clamps his mouth closed around the automatic denial. Even if he never wanted to hurt Lance, the mating mark bears meaning, an expression of dedication and love. Shiro can see uninhibited adoration in the blue depths of Lance's eyes; he envisages Lance holding out his heart and entrusting it to Shiro.

"It was instinctive," Shiro admits, choosing his words carefully, handling Lance's heart with care. "Because I…" he pauses, willing himself the courage. "Because I love you, Lance."

Lance inhales sharply, his face brightening with the most brilliant grin Shiro has ever seen. He reaches out for Shiro and says, "Come here."

Crawling up the bed, Shiro settles beside Lance, not wanting to cause any more harm than he already has. Lance envelopes him swiftly, long arms encircling Shiro's neck and leg hitching over his hip, kissing him languidly, amorously. Shiro melts into his mouth contentedly, relishing every touch and point of contact, adoring every precious tick.

" _Obviously_ you love me," Lance says, pulling back and smirking. "I mean, who wouldn't."

Shiro huffs a laugh and shakes his head fondly.

"I love you too," Lance confesses, smile softening and expression becoming surprisingly bashful. "I've never been happier than the quintents and vargas I spend with you by my side, Shiro."

Heart jolting and stuttering in his chest, Shiro leans forward to kiss him. He delves into Lance's mouth with slow, reverent movement of his lips and tongue. Forgetting, at least for this night, their titles and ranks and pasts. Being only Shiro and Lance. Two men who love each other, alone in the dim universe, alive under the glow of the ethereal blue moon.

Shiro pulls back, crinkling his nose. "You're sticky."

Lance gasps dramatically. "How dare you accuse your Prince of such repulsive things!"

Chuckling, Shiro presses a kiss to Lance's fake outraged frown and climbs out of bed. Entering the bathroom, he grabs a washcloth and wets it with warm water. Returning to the bed, Shiro pulls the sticky sheet out from under Lance, who groans a complaint and barely rolls over to help. Shiro disposes of the sheet into the laundry chute and acquires a fresh one, cleaning Lance gently before draping it over him.

"Are you always so attentive?" Lance murmurs sleepily as Shiro draws the sheet up over his shoulders.

"It is my duty," Shiro answers automatically. He frowns and amends, "And I care for you."

Lance smiles at him, heavy lidded eyes closing slowly. "You're the most beautiful being I have ever had the privilege of knowing, Shiro."

Shiro stands by the bed, brushing silky brown curls away from Lance's eyes. "Thank you, Lance. Sleep well, my Prince."

"Woah, woah," Lance says, catching Shiro's wrist as he turns to leave. "Where are you going?"

"I should get back to my post," Shiro answers tentatively. He wants nothing more than to stay, to hold Lance in his arms as he sleeps, but his duty forbids such things. His duty forbids any of this. At least if he leaves now, no one need know. "If I stay and someone is to discover us…"

Lance shakes his head resolutely, stern expression and commanding presence of his noble legacy falling into place naturally.

"I've felt so lost and alone, thinking this would never happen, thinking that you'd never be here with me. And now that you're here, I…" Lance's voice wavers and he sits up, grip on Shiro's wrist tightening and gazing into Shiro's eyes intently. "You're _safe_ with me, Shiro. No matter what happens, no matter who finds out, I _will_ protect you and you shall remain by my side. I promise."

Swallowing thickly around the emotion that swells in his throat, Shiro nods and allows himself to be drawn under the sheets with Lance. Shiro curls around Lance's lithe form comfortably, his arm wrapped around Lance's waist and bodies pressed flush together. Shiro nuzzles into the back of Lance's butter-soft hair and squeezes the long, deft fingers laced through his own.

Never has he felt warmer and safer. Never has he felt more alive.


End file.
